The watcher
by Lirulin-yirth-k'aio
Summary: A stand-out piece, taking place after the main events that are not described yet sorry for that! Aivare, who was thought to be dead, is back... but strangely changed and very lonely. To understand better, see my other stories, it's the same AU in them.


**The Watcher**

_**Disclaimer:**__ The world is J.R.'s, the characters are mine. Both =)_

_**Author's note:**__ it's the same very-very AU story… if you have questions, feel free to ask._

Dedicated to my wife

*~*~*~*~*

You are sitting in your favourite armchair, trying to ignore my presence. You are not looking in my direction… you are not talking to me any more, though you used to before… The damned elf came and ruined everything…

Now you are surer that I am not just an illusion caused by madness or illness. And indeed I am a bit more – I am an illusion caused by my own will.

You are scared of me… and I understand perfectly well, why. I was going to explain it all to you sooner or later, but I had to tell everything at once. I had to admit that I am the foulest wight ever… foulest and killed twenty years ago. Perhaps it struck you even more than my reputation. I saw it in your eyes… I even regretted coming to you… regretted that I had chosen you as my collocutor.

You must hate me now… you must be wishing I were dead… oh, but for you I am already dead… too bad. I even don't want to imagine what you wish. If I do, it may happen. So I just hide from you too…

*~*~*~*~*

So you have decided to go home tonight instead of staying in the palace. Maybe I should consider it an advantage… the elf will not come to your house, and I doubt that any of your family and servants are keen on magic. They will not notice me, they will not feel anything odd…

You are still weak after the shock of realizing that I may be real. I wish I could offer you my support, but I can't, so you walk on your own, slowly and with a lot of effort.

Your house is just one level lower than the palace. That must be a sign of your high position, an honour… or maybe it was just convenient and you had enough money to buy this house… Or did it belong to some generations of your family already? I don't know… I rarely amused myself with watching the life in Arda before. Now I am compensating for that.

You enter the house, obviously unawaited by your family. There is no one in the hall and you proceed to your study, trying to step noiselessly. Probably you don't want them to make a lot of fuss around your arrival. You want to be alone… but you are not. I am following you there, to a rather small room where all space is taken by books and papers, save the place for a table, an armchair and a narrow path to them.

I really like it here. I wish I could stay here one day… being really here, not only my mind, but my body too. I want to read those books, to listen to the crackling of fire in the fireplace… to drink wine… you have some in your cellar, don't you?

You sink in the armchair and take an unfinished letter from the table to reread it. I settle myself behind the back of the armchair and read it too. The letter contains some unimportant nonsense and must be meant for some distant relative of yours. With a sigh you put the letter back on the table and I wonder how long you have been writing it… for a week? Or for a month?

Then you take another piece of parchment and begin drawing something on it. Slowly a silhouette becomes recognizable – it's that elf, Taurdil, standing in the doorway and looking back at you. Then comes a drawing of the king's crown, lying on the floor… the tree that grows before the palace… You think for a while and add flames all around the tree.

Then comes my own face. I feel very… odd, realizing that the flames around the tree may be somewhat connected with me in your mind. I know that it is entirely my fault that you think of me so, but for some reason it hurts.

I look at your drawings one more time and it strikes me how well you remember my face after only some meetings. I can't help sighing and you probably feel something and throw your quill off with indignation. The parchment follows the quill soon and you leave the study and go upstairs to your bedroom.

I follow you there too, staring at every little detail on our way. I want to understand you better, but it seems that the house itself won't reveal much… You are so reserved that even your own rooms give me only hints, not direct answers.

The bedroom is not an exception. Expensive, yet plain and slightly worn out furniture… books… papers… Only the papers and the books give the room a shade of messiness, everything else is in order and in its proper place. Another hint proving that my choice of a party for conversation was right. You are well-read and able to think… quite a rare quality in fact!

But now you pay no attention to the books, just take them carefully away from your bed and lie down. I keep down a wish to touch your hair, to play with it a little. No, it's too childish a wish for an almost eight-thousand-year-old creature. Instead I seat myself on a chair near your bed and watch you. You are looking at the ceiling as if there is something very interesting on it and thinking… about me… about your king and your kingdom… Your thoughts are grave, you can't fall asleep because of them… or maybe because of that heavy, fur-trimmed mantle? It must be really uncomfortable to sleep in it.

I lose the sense of time soon and don't know if you have been lying so and ruminating for some minutes or some hours. After all you get up and undress. I look away until you are under the blanket… yes, I have changed a lot recently. I have acquired some moral rules. Having them feels strange but I am getting used to it, and you help a lot, though you don't know.

I would sing a lullaby for you but… first of all I know that you would not approve, and besides I am not sure that my singing anything here is a good idea.

You are still thinking also half-asleep. I touch your mind… and withdraw. I don't want to bother you, so I walk around the room instead, admiring the piles of books on the shelves and weapons on the walls.

Suddenly I notice a small harp that some of your relatives must have forgotten here. I touch the strings absent-mindedly... and startle myself when I hear the rusting of cloth following the chord. I turn around… just to see that you have turned on your side, already asleep. With a sigh of relief I leave the harp and approach your bed again…

"Sleep well, my friend..." I whisper inaudibly. "Sleep well…"

I sit on the chair beside your bed again and watch you and your dreams. They are surprisingly peaceful… and I calm down too. Tomorrow there will be another day… and another chance…

…tomorrow… or some other day…

*~*~*~*~*

_The end_


End file.
